


sometimes the most insignificant things hold the most importance

by ProudHaikyuuTrash



Series: SakuAtsu Week 2020 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Memories, Fluff, M/M, They are so in love its kinda disgusting, sakuatsu week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProudHaikyuuTrash/pseuds/ProudHaikyuuTrash
Summary: Entry for SakuAtsu Week Day Two: Mask/HideThere’ one certain memory etched into Atsumu’s mind for as long as he remembers. It’s nothing spectacular, nothing really worth remembering, but it still stays, imprinted in the deepest parts of his soul.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: SakuAtsu Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691599
Comments: 3
Kudos: 199
Collections: Haikyuu, SakuAtsu Week 2020





	sometimes the most insignificant things hold the most importance

There’ one certain memory etched into Atsumu’s mind for as long as he remembers. It’s nothing spectacular, nothing really worth remembering, but it still stays, imprinted in the deepest parts of his soul.

It’s the memory of kind dark eyes, soft ebony hair and gentle, small hands as he is picked up from the ground. Atsumu had been playing on the swings when he had lost his balance, slipped off his seat and went crashing down.

Gentle, tiny hands grabbed onto him as he was lifted up and his eyes met dark, gentle eyes of a boy, worry swirling in his orbs.

“Are you okay?” the male had gasped, pulling him up to his feet.

“Yeah,” little Atsumu grimaced, “I think, leg hurts.”

The boy, with all the strength in his little body, guided Atsumu to sit on the swings before crouching down and peering at his knee.

“Its cut,” the boy said very seriously, voice grim, “We need to tie it off.”

“Tie…it?”

“So the germs can’t get to it!” the boy informed enthusiastically, “If germs get to it, you can have an infection.”

“I don’t have anything to tie it off!” Atsumu said frantically, “What am I going to do?”

The boy furrowed his brows, frowning down at Atsumu’s knees. Then his eyes brightened and he gasped, “I have a mask!”

Atsumu blinked, confused, but the boy paid him no heed, procuring a cloth mask out of his pocket and folding it. Then he pressed it to the wound, ignoring Atsumu’s pained hiss as he wrapped it around the cut, tightening with as much strength his little body allowed. Once done, he stood up, dusted his hand and grinned.

“There all done! Now you can play without it getting infected!”

Atsumu smiled back, bright and awed, “Really?”

“Yep!”

“Thank you very much!” Atsumu gasped, “Hey, do you want to play with me?”

“Sure!” The boy chirped.

After that, Atsumu isn’t sure what happens but he doesn’t see the boy ever again, as if he was a piece of Atsumu’s imagination. In his childish enthusiasm he had even forgotten to ask his name, so all he had of his childhood ‘hero’ and possibly first friend, was the blood-stained mask and the memory of black hair and dark eyes and pale pretty skin.

“Where did you get this mask?” Kiyoomi asks Atsumu when they are cleaning their wardrobes for new years. Atsumu peeks at Kiyoomi’s hand cradling a white mask.

“Oh this,” Atsumu laughs, picking up one of the boxes at the corner of their bedroom, “When I was five or something, someone used it to bandage my knee after I cut it.”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Kiyoomi chokes, “ _What?_ ”

“Someone in my neighborhood gave me the mask to stop the bleeding?” Atsumu repeats, brows furrowing at Kiyoomi’s explosive reaction, “Why?”

“The mask’s mine,” Kiyoomi whispers, “And I gave it to a boy when he fell off the swings when I was visiting my aunt in Hyogo.”

“I— _what_?” Atsumu yelled, box dropping from his hand, “It was you?”

“Look,” Kiyoomi insisted, “It even has my initials.”

True to his word, at the left corner of the mask a small S.K. is embodied.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu gasps in glee, crawling to where Kiyoomi is sat amidst the mess of clothes, shoes and what not, “It was you—the boy.”

Kiyoomi’s brows raise themselves in challenge, “Why?”

“Nothing,” Atsumu grins, taking off one of the gloves and extending his hand out. Kiyoomi’s expression shifts to confusion but he takes the initiative anyway, leaning into Atsumu’s palm, “Just that little Kiyoomi was my first crush.”

“Hmm?” Kiyoomi’s interest peaks, sly grin taking over his features, “Oh?”

Atsumu, as if just realizing what he had said, flushes pink in an instant. Kiyoomi’s grin only widens and he grips onto Atsumu’s palm before the male can extract it.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu whines, “Forget I just said that.”

Kiyoomi snorts, “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You are a big bully,” Atsumu scoffs, “I’m breaking up.”

“Oh?” Kiyoomi says, fake disappointment dripping from his voice, “I thought I was your first crush?”

“Omi-kun!”

Kiyoomi snorts, pulls the hand he still has in his grip until Atsumu is closer, “Hello, you clumsy fuckward of a human, I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi since you forgot to ask twenty years ago.”

Atsumu shoves at him yet he smiles, “Hello you big bully, you were much kinder when you were five. I’m Miya Atsumu.”

Kiyoomi pulls his big, fat jerk of a boyfriend into a kiss, placing the mask back into the opened drawer as he does so.

Funny, how something as little and insignificant as a mask holds so much value for them both.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, meanie.”


End file.
